


Divinity Blues

by aameyalli



Series: Ikaros Stories [1]
Category: Guild Wars 2, Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: References to Abuse, kids being sad, light Violence, tham swears a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aameyalli/pseuds/aameyalli
Summary: The Ikaros twins were born lucky. Identical babies, dark-eyed, beautiful, blowing bubbles of pale pink magic. Lyssa has always favored twos and pretty mesmers...A story about how the Commander and her brother ended up so far from home, and so very very far apart.





	1. Three of Lyssa

**I**

**Three of Lyssa**

> A card depicting the goddess Lyssa, cradling a third head, solid gold with gemstone eyes, between their four long arms. The Three of Lyssa means both separation and deception, such as a faked death, a journey apart under false pretenses, or the betrayal of a travel companion. When reversed, this card suggests that someone is returning unexpectedly to your life. They earned your trust before, but can’t be taken at their word this time.
> 
> \- “The Suit of Goddesses,” from _Beginner’s Orrian Tarot _by Explorer Dana Campbell

The Ikaros twins were born lucky. Identical babies, dark-eyed, beautiful, blowing bubbles of pale pink magic. Lyssa has always favored twos and pretty mesmers. Their shrines drip with gold earrings, double bangles, halves of mirrors, all glittering things that come in pairs. So before they could babble, the twins were baptized to the two-faced goddess, and told that they were lucky, and more than lucky. Precious to the gods. The first thing their Baba Arash ever taught them. The last thing he reminds them of before they leave him forever.

They’re only sixteen when it happens, but they’ve grown up tall and strong. Prem makes illusions like Priests of Dwayna make lace, finely detailed and lighter than clouds. Countess Anise taught him, but her lips press thin when her queen says “Would you look at that,” when she laughs “He’ll be better than you.”

Tham’s spatial surge could take out a charr tank. She knows because she’s tried it out.

They’re sixteen, lucky, more than lucky, precious to the gods, the Mesmer Collective’s most purred-about prodigies. They’re standing in a cave under Divinity’s Reach. They’re about to become the youngest Shining Blade agents in Krytan history. And Tham is scared shitless. 

The main reason is that Prem isn’t talking, and he never shuts up. Looking at the back of her brother’s head, last in the line of Shining Blade initiates, Tham feels exposed, as if Prem’s warmth at her side and voice in her ear is a layer of armor that has been stripped off, and now anyone can see the weak points underneath.

Weak points like how they’d probably never had Lyssa’s love, because they didn’t really match, because Tham was a girl and Prem chose his own god. Like how she couldn’t crack a joke unless Prem was there to start the laugh. Like how she couldn’t sleep without his gentle snores close by. Like how absolutely fucking_ stupid_ scared she was of Countess Anise. Or like the plan they’d hatched together last night, hiding in their aunties’ garden, which she kept rolling through her head like a damn Sisyphean boulder.

The door is behind her. Only two exemplars standing guard. When Prem’s name is called, Tham will take them down. Quick, hot strikes before they know what’s happening. Modest as always, her brother has promised to distract the whole room. Anise, exemplars, initiates, Lyssa knows how many Blade agents watching through the house’s yellow eyes. If he pulls it off, no one will think to follow the twins, and they can disappear.

Prem said Lady Wi would take them to the Order of Whispers. Tham thinks Wi is scamming him, but she doesn’t really care. If Whispers is a bust, they can run to Lion’s Arch and join a pirate crew. Or kill the bandit king and be gods among highwaymen. Or join the fucking Queensdale circus. Anyone who’ll take them without asking questions. They can take care of each other. They can take care of themselves.

No, the only part that bugs her is Anise. Sure, Prem is good, but is any mesmer good enough to screw over… _her?_

Tham bounces on the balls of her feet. Rubs her arms like she can scrub off chills. The house seems like it’s leaning forward, its blank bright windows staring down at all of them on the cavern floor, scanning them for bad thoughts. Looking for the double-crossers.

Her brother keeps looking back, a jerking nervous motion, as if he thinks she’ll be gone the next time he turns his head. It stings a little - of course she won’t be. Not without him a step behind her. His silence is worse than his apparent mistrust. Not a single stupid question. Barely a huff of laughter when Tham said “So how are you gonna deal with Countess Anus?” (He’d just batted her hand away with a smirk—"I said I would, alright?“)

It should be a relief, he’s annoying as hell, but there’s a traitorous twinge deep in her stomach. Prem is never quiet unless something’s wrong.

When the Countess speaks, Tham feels deadly sure for a second that she’ll be talking to them. Like the gods-damned house will have whispered in her ear, _“Those little shits. They’re the ones who wanna run out on you.”_

But what Anise says is "Mehid Obeid.” Her voice is clear and cold, like the steady plink of water dripping from the cavern’s roof. A droplet strikes the back of Tham’s neck and slips down her collar, tracing a line of shivers down her back.

Mehid shuffles forward. The twins know him. Some kind of cousin, like everyone here with an Orrian name. Prem remembers Mehid as a cello player. Tham remembers Mehid as super crazy boring and she isn’t convinced he can read.

“I bring before you,” Anise calls out, “one who wishes to take the Oath of Confidence and uplift the Shining Blade. Is there any among you who does not know who he is?”

“A dumbass,” Tham says into her brother’s ear.

“Nah, he’s sweet,” Prem whispers back.

Mehid kneels at Anise’s feet and kisses the hem of her dress. The countess places her hands at his temples, and goes on with the words of her ritual.

“If he was ‘sweet,’ he wouldn’t be here,” says Tham, barely listening with one ear. “Nice people don’t join the Shining Blade.”

Prem shrugs lightly. “Too bad you’re running. You’d fit right in.”

Tham wrinkles her nose. “Aw, come on.”

"I’m calling it now. Straight to queen bee. You should think about it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not.” Tham rocks from heel to toe, scowling at his hair. 

“In the holy light of the Shining Blade I call you, Mehid,” says Anise. “Blessings on Kryta and on Queen Jennah.”

The initiates and exemplars echo her in two dozen voices: “Blessings on Kryta and on Queen Jennah.” Prem speaks with them. Tham keeps her lips pursed.

“Mehid,” says Anise. “Do you freely submit yourself to be cast into the fires of the blacksmith’s forge?”

Mehid’s voice cracks with eagerness—"I do.“

Against Mehid’s dark hair, Anise’s hands seem to glow. When she releases him he stands and gives himself over to a waiting pair of exemplars, and his face is slack, rapturous. Tham is embarrassed for him.

With a stab of unease, she notices Anise looking not at their cousin but at Prem. The Countess’s eyes are unexpressive, glazed as mirrors shards offered to Lyssa.

Mehid and his companions vanish into one of the dozen or so rough-hewn doorways edging the cavern. Tham can’t see inside it, but its mouth stretches into a hungry yawn, animated by moving firelight.

"Talie Davies,” Anise intones, and a girl with rose gold hair moves forward. She kisses Anise’s skirt, lets her cradle her head, swears on the Blade, and follows Mehid into the 'fires.' 

Tham’s skin is cold, but a sickly heat crawls through her head. She watches the pale curve of Anise’s hands around Cevik’s skull, then Salia’s, Rene’s, Ylan’s. It’s starting to feel real now. They’re running away. From the Blade, the Reach, their Baba. And if they don’t run fast enough, if Anise touches them and they walk into that toothless burning mouth of a doorway… The thought is dizzying, like a sudden dive that leaves her gut behind.

Prem looks back again. Maybe it’s just the dim cave light playing tricks, but it flickers across Tham’s mind that she’s been misreading her brother’s glances. He doesn’t look nervous, really. He looks… sad, sort of.

She swallows the acid swell of dread and runs through their plan again. Door behind her. Two exemplars. Quick and hot. We both disappear. Whispers, pirates, bandits, circus, who-fucking-cares. Take care of ourselves. Take care of each other.

“Do you freely submit yourself to be cast into the fires…” I do and I do and I do and I do. Just to be petty, Tham wants to shout “NO!”

Deep breaths now. Door behind her. Two exemplars…

“Li Jun Tanak.”

Mehid’s exemplars reappear, hauling Mehid between them. The agents’ arms, looped under his, support his whole weight. His feet scuff loudly as he struggles to keep up.

Shudders of heat and cold race each other through Tham’s body. All Baba told them about initiation was the words they had to say: ‘I do.’ She’d never dreamed it would look like… this.

Mehid’s eyes are swollen almost shut, blooming black. Twin streams of blood slip from the side of his mouth and one red nostril. There’s a patch of angry, shiny pink skin on his left cheek, like he’s been slapped by a fired-up elementalist.

The exemplars’ faces are reverent but their hands are careless as they drop him on the ground beside Anise. Mehid doesn’t so much as squeak.

Anise puts her hands on Li Jun’s head, and stares at Prem like Tham imagined the house staring earlier. Searching. Knowing. For all the good it’ll do her. Whatever evil bullshit they’ve just done to Mehid, it’s not going to happen to the twins. They’ll be gone before Anise gets to “holy light.” But suddenly, sickeningly, Tham feels outside. Left behind. Like Prem isn’t here in front of her, Anise has taken him somewhere else, and if she reached out to punch his shoulder her hand would pass right through.

“Prem,” she croaks. She doesn’t know what she wants to tell him. Maybe she just wants to make him turn around again. Instead, Prem reaches back and squeezes her hand without looking. The touch is warm and real. Against her own sweat-slick, shaky palm, she can feel how dry and still her brother’s hand is. Like he isn’t scared at all.

“You nervous?”

Tham’s response is automatic. “No way, dipshit.”

“You’ll be great,” he says. “Hit 'em hard, okay? I’ll be right behind you.”

Talie Davies is shepherded back into the chamber, her pretty face a mess of burns and bruises.

“Prem,” Tham tries again, but Anise’s voice is louder—"Prem Ardeshir Ikaros.“

He lets go of Tham’s hand. "That’s your cue.”

Tham’s eyes dart over her face. Looking for… She doesn’t know what. He looks stupid with his hair slicked back, she can say that much for sure. Even in her head, the humor falls flat.

Prem faces her now, but only to land a gentle punch on her arm. “What are you waiting for, a good luck kiss? Go on, you have a mess to make.”

He takes two steps away from her, then leans in sharply and kisses her on the bridge of her nose.

“Eugh,” says Tham.

“Don’t look back,” says Prem.

She makes a sour face at him.

A flick of her wrist calls up her magic, in the form of tiny pink koi fish that weave between her fingertips. The swish of their fins is languid, peaceful. Tham snaps her fingers and the fish explode. A nexus of magic crackles up her arm, raising the fine hairs and numbing the skin.

She pivots on her heel into a fierce left hook. Her fist hits air. The arcing beam of psychic magic, though—that hits the first exemplar full in the face.

Her right foot glides back, then swings around in a roundhouse kick. Beating air again, and again an arch of searing light. It cuts across the agent from shoulder to hip and he goes down easier than most stuffed dummies. Doesn’t even shout.

The second exemplar rushes Tham, barking “Stand down!” even as she whips her greatsword around. Tham drops into a roll. The blade whistles past her ear, just grazing her shoulder. It cuts a crescent in the thin blue cloth of the kaftan Baba made her wear. She feels a sting and warmth and wetness, but not enough to slow down for.

She lurches to her feet and barrel jumps over the second blow, thinking for a giddy airborne moment of the jump rope games Prem used to love.

As Tham comes down, she drives her elbow cruelly into the agent’s side. Her opponent stumbles, off balance. One punch to the shoulder. The greatsword clatters loudly to the floor. One in the gut, and the exemplar doubles over. Tham’s magic-charged fist slams up into her nose with an ugly sizzle and an uglier crunch.

“Gods, _shit!”_ The exemplar staggers away from her, clutching at her spurting nose, and trips over her unconscious partner. Tham’s spatial surge strikes her in the chest, and it’s lights out. Tham lets her magic condense into its swirling koi, and dissipate.

With both exemplars on the cavern floor, the path to the door is dazzlingly clear.

Tham surges forward, charging up the rough stone steps. She doesn’t hear the thunder of Shining Blade boots or raised voices behind her, just Prem’s feet pounding on the stairs. Unbelievable as it is, he must have kept his promise to distract the others. She only wishes she’d been watching the show.

Prem is so close, his labored breaths are hot against her shoulder. He’s never been as quick or strong as she is. It’s a miracle he’s keeping up.

“They’re not chasing us?” she calls back.

An exhilarated laugh. “Don’t tell me you _doubted_ me!”

Tham bursts through the “wall” at the top of the stairs, into the mausoleum, leaving the illusion of solid stone sparking in her wake. She vaults over the empty coffin and then she’s outside, gulping down steamy summer air. It’s hot as hell outside, but after the cave it’s heavenly.

Tham doubles over, hands braced against her knees, lungs heaving.

The graveyard is quiet. No pursuers, just Tham’s heavy breathing, the calls of late afternoon birds and kids playing somewhere up on the high road. And hopefully, Lady Wi, hiding somewhere nearby. They got away.

“We got away.” Tham’s face splits into a manic grin. “We got away! Prem!” She whirls around, ready to seize him in a hug or a chokehold, depending on how smug he looks.

For a split second, she sees him. Not out of breath. Not even smiling. 

And then she gets a faceful of twinkling pink insect wings, and Prem isn’t there.

Somewhere, Tham read that people stabbed with knives often think at first that they’ve been punched. The pain is blunt, baffling, funny almost. It’s only when they look down and see the blade or the blood that their nerves catch on, and they feel the real pain.

It’s like that to realize that Prem tricked her. First the dull impact of confusion. A hysterical “ha!”—an illusion? _Really?_ And then the nerves catch on with a wounded, angry, broken yell. Her hand moves, not to her shoulder, oozing actual blood, or her gut that aches and heaves with shock, but to the bridge of her nose where Prem kissed her.

There was no madcap plan, no impossible distraction. Her brother isn’t here and Tham isn’t lucky. Or more than lucky. Or precious to the gods.

Tham is alone.

-

“Do you freely submit yourself to be cast into the fires of the blacksmith’s forge?”

In the cold underbelly of Divinity’s Reach, Tham’s brother says “I do.”


	2. Tham's Fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tham in the aftermath of the Shining Blade initiation.

**II**

**Tham’s Fires**

> The story goes like this: There was an Orrian prince named Zameer Ikaros, and he had a wife named Eshaal. They wrote an evil book of magic, and King Reza cast them out of Arah. The exiles sailed through nine days and nights and nine great storms before arriving at the Reach, where they were received most warmly by King Roderick.
> 
> The King had heard of the Orrians' crimes, but he was old and sick and could not resist their charm. An oath was sealed in blood and magic between them—the Krytan crown would shelter them and never let harm come to Zameer and Eshaal's descendants, so long as one of every generation was sworn to the Shining Blade and served it well.
> 
> In revulsion, Roderick's son tried to undo the bargain by killing Eshaal, but when he brought his dagger down, it was the prince who fell dead instead of her. Even to this day, the Ikaros family is bound to the crown by the blackest magic of Orr, as the crown in turn is bound to them, and for this they hate each other in secret and always will.*
> 
> _*It's likely this story was fabricated to smear the noble House of Ikaros, which has enjoyed fabulous wealth, high titles, and celebration as Kryta's most talented mesmers for thirteen generations. There is no record of any such deal _ _between an Ikaros and King Roderick or any member of his court, although the family holds an easy record for the most Shining Blade agents in a single bloodline—tantalizingly, at least one per generation._
> 
> \-  Urban Legends of Divinity's Reach by Elisa Omiata, Priory Historian

It's the first night since Tham ran from the Shining Blade. She's holed up for now in Lady Wi's wine cellar. It's dim and dusty, more cave than room, and the underground chill reminds her of the Blade's headquarters. Anise's voice. Her brother.

The walls are thickly padded with casks, barrels, and bottles. At least the smell is nice. Earthy and tart, warmer than the air.

Her bed is a nest of pillows and quilts borrowed from Wi’s guest room. It's soft enough to save her sore muscles from the hard cellar floor, but the cold pokes fingers through every gap and claws under her skin.

She's so fucking angry. Angry and hurt and more confused than she’s ever been and—Lyssa, what's the point of cataloguing? She feels like _ shit, _that’s what she feels.

How could Prem leave her? Lie to her? She knows he has things he’d miss in the city. Private lessons with Anise. Cute dumb boys who bring him flowers. Maman even seems to love him sometimes. But he must know they'll hurt him for deceiving Anise, for helping Tham run. The twins both saw Mehid’s bloody face. They both know what the Shining Blade’s job is. And they both know Baba isn’t gentle on a _ good _ day. When he gets word that Tham has disappeared, Prem will be the only one in the Reach, which really means _ arm's _ reach. He’ll be punished. He could’ve escaped that. Why wouldn’t he escape?

And they were supposed to run together, play out the adventure games they’d made up as kids. Pirates, bandits, treasure hunters, spies. Prem promised. So how, _ how _could he have wanted to stay behind?

She draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them tight to stop the shivering. The pillow is damp and sticky against her face, from tears that start hot and stinging in her eyes and turn cold by the time they soaked into the cotton. A gooey hiccup punches out of her throat.

Tham wasn't crying when Lady Wi found her. She was howling her brother’s name like a wounded animal, clawing at the mausoleum's false wall, scrabbling for a seam, any weakness in the illusion. But it had turned solid after she passed through, and all she scraped out was her own blood. When she was sick from screaming, Wi wrapped her in a shawl, took her home, and made up a plate of warm peaches, bread, and cheese. Tham scarfed it down while Wi washed out the cut on her shoulder and her torn fingertips and patched it all up with sticky bandages. She even gave her a glass of milk, like she was six again and coming down from a tantrum.

Tham has never gone in for the whole parents thing, but Wi is alright. As long as she doesn’t do something totally horrible like call Tham “kiddo,” she doesn’t mind the attention or the food. Maybe in the morning Wi will keep her word and bring Tham to the Chantry of Secrets. Maybe she won’t. It barely makes a difference. Tham is alone.

_ Alone. _

Gods _ fucking _ dammit, she's really alone.

Another sob, hard and wet and humiliating.

When she cried at home, Prem used to call on his magic, sending swarms of pink sparkflies eddying around their darkened bedroom. Sometimes they would land on her nose to make her sneeze or giggle. Pretty soon they made a game out of it. Tham would make a little koi fish and it would chase the sparkflies through the air, getting fatter and fatter as it swallowed Prem's illusions. When it had eaten them all, Tham would make the fish explode. Prem thought that part was gross. Tham thought it was hilarious, which made it hard to keep crying.

Tham lets go of her knees and snakes one hand outside the blankets. It always takes a mental tug to bring her magic up. The Collective Academy taught that it was often tougher for powerful mesmers—a built-in protective measure, to stop them from blowing themselves up by calling too much magic too fast. She closes her eyes, and imagines a sharp pull.

There’s no resistance. Instantly her face is bathed in heat and light that turns her eyelids red. Her eyes pop open.

There are koi fish all right, but they’re not illusions. Three fist-sized splashes of cyan fire bounce in circles around her outstretched hand, their fins flicking tongues of flame, their eyes points of furious white light. And wherever their scales touch her bed, cloth is burning. Acrid smoke stings her nose and chases the tang of crying from her open mouth.

Tham yelps and scrambles to her feet, grabbing handfuls of blanket to mash out the small flames crawling over her quilt. A few stomps and a rapid chant of "hot, hot, hot, hot, hot!" extinguish the pillow.

Playfully, the fiery koi squirm up into the air and swim in spirals around her head.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Tham hisses.

The koi fish wiggle and bounce.

Gingerly, Tham lifts a hand and pokes the closest one with one finger. It doesn't burn. Instead, she feels rough warm scales like a sunbathing snake's and a rushing, rising feeling in her chest.

_ Where did they come from _ is a stupid question. She knows already. It’s her own magic. It’s her own _ anger _. Outside of herself, it isn’t roaring. Not trying to swallow her like her illusions swallowed Prem’s, not licking up the towers of Divinity’s Reach. Not Balthazar’s infernos. Just Tham’s fires. Just fish, flitting around her, trailing blue-green embers that threaten to ignite the blanket nest again.

This, Tham can handle. This, she can _ befriend. _

The fish butts its nose against her finger, then spits blue sparks in her face and swims away.

Tham takes a few protective steps away from her bed, and watches the fiery koi swirl in their bright, nonsensical loops. Her eyes are blurring. Fresh warm tears. When she blinks them away, the koi seem to leave trails behind them, like Lunar New Year sparklers twirled in Aunties' garden at night.

She didn’t know magic could _ change _ like this, change from one bad day. Maybe these little fires should scare her. They don’t. They're hers, and that means Tham is still alone. But at least for now it isn't dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since they're both filler, prem's aftermath chapter is going up today as well!


	3. Prem's Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prem in the aftermath.

**III**

**Prem’s Tower**

> 1310 AE: The King’s death leaves Jennah, his heiress, alone in an empty palace. Master Exemplar Anise takes the unused wings and converts them into lodging and training areas for the Shining Blade, as well as a campus for the Mesmer Collective’s private school for gifted illusionists. Both projects are meant to honor and protect the child queen, although Jennah herself never attends the Collective Academy or gets clearance to visit Shining Blade facilities.
> 
> \- Divine Foundations: An Architectural History of Tyria’s Last Great City by Historian Jinell

It's the first night since Prem's sister ran, and there's still blood running from his ears and nose.

His room is the highest in the tallest tower, just like a fairytale. He doesn't really remember coming up here. He thinks he remembers what came before. The fire. The dark. The stones they threw.

And Anise. Afterward.

He remembers thinking she wouldn't hurt him, because he was hers, her protégé, and she'd called him “Petal” during their lessons. Because he was one of the twins. Lucky. More than lucky. Precious to the gods.

Maybe Prem is dumb to believe that, and even dumber to believe in Baba’s bedtime story about bargains and blood curses. But he’s never felt like gambling against gods. If Baba says he has Lyssa’s luck, then why be jaded? If Baba says the twins will die if at least one of them does not join the Shining Blade…

He could have run. But he didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want Tham to die, and Tham didn’t want to die, and he was okay here, he could survive here, people liked him, Tham deserved to get away…

She didn’t need to stay. In the story, Zameer only ever promised  _ one. _

He thought that would make it okay. He even flattered himself, once or twice, that Anise would be  _ pleased  _ to have such a clever student. He imagined a warm, confidential look, maybe even a smile... Stupid, stupid… Why would he have thought…

Anise did not smile at him. When his patiently waiting clone of Tham dissolved into sparkflies and the Countess knew what he'd done...

Pain knifes through him. All of him. He bites down on a whimper and pulls the stiff blue blanket over his head, as if that could block out the afterimages of pink magic zipping past his eyes. The bed will have rusty stains on it in the morning. He doesn't care. They'll punish him or they won't. He doesn't care, he doesn't care.

The bedroom swims around him. There's a window like an arrow slit, and a pale blob through it that must be the moon. He can't make out stars. White walls. Locked door. The ceiling is a conical vault, smudged out with spiderwebs. There's the bed. Dark shapes. Other things… Anise’s magic, cruel as lightning... His focus blurs. He feels like he's sinking into a cool dark pond, and the water is nice, it laps away the ache in his head and the terrible light and the sticky clinging dirt of lying to Tham, but at the bottom there's eyes, and teeth, and...

And pain again. Prem's body shudders, the muscles in his neck and shoulders seizing like he's lightning-struck. His eyes fix on a lump in the wall's white paint, a few inches from his nose.

He knows Anise can make you forget things. Not what she did to him earlier, he's sure she'll let him keep that because she called it “teaching.” But what if…

The thought falls through him, soft and heavy.

She was in his head tonight. Making his eyes kaleidoscopes, twisting his nerves, squeezing his lungs, singing, burning. What else could she do, if she wanted to? What could she do to feelings, to memories, to...

There's a stub of sidewalk chalk hidden in his kaftan. Baba didn't notice him pocket it when they left the house, and no one took it from him in the caves. Haltingly he plucks it out. His fingers spasm and it falls against the sheets. He grabs it again, this time in his whole fist, like he would’ve held it as a baby, the first time he drew a fish for Tham in hot pink crayon.

On the blank wall he draws six clumsy stick figures. Maman Inaya. Baba Arash. Auntie Hana. Aunt Zee. Tham. Prem.

Maman and Baba have angry faces. He gives crude smilies to the rest. Around Tham's head, he adds some smears to represent her koi fish.

It looks pitiful. A toddler's work. He wants to do more, to sketch the curves and angles of his sister’s face, to write everything he knows about himself that feels precious. Everything Anise might be able to warp or take away, with enough time in his head.

But the chalk drops from his hand again, and clinks against the floor. He doesn't try to fish it out. If they find it, they'll punish him or they won't. He doesn't care, he doesn't care.

The tremors keep coming, and Prem is alone. But at least for now he can't forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see u in two weeks! please leave kudos if you like this so far or tell me what you think in a comment! :D

**Author's Note:**

> give me one good honest comment and i'll be alright <3


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